


Ski Monte Doit Redescendre

by kampix



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Other, i am so glad this tag exists, it's fiiiine, mild hypothermia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24193582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kampix/pseuds/kampix
Summary: Aziraphale had said: “I know you're not much for winter, dear,” and really Crowley should've seen what was coming at that point, but he was busy drinking a very nice glass of red, and looking at the angel dab the corners of his mouth after eating some flaky golden pastry, and maybe he hadn’t been entirely focused on Aziraphale's words at that moment. “But I was wondering if we might postpone our venture to the south and head north for a few days? Only a week or so, really, but I've always wanted to try my hand at some winter activities and I've never really had the chance before, you see... And it seems a shame not to take the opportunity while we're still in the area.”And Crowley, with the foresight of a blind mole, had answered with a nonchalant: “yeah, sure. Whatever you like angel.”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: The Aro Way Challenge 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this last month and a half has been.... something, for lack of a better term. And turns out being highly stressed is not conducive to writing. Who would've thought... But heyyy, I somehow wrote this just in time. The first two chapters at least. Jury's out on when I'll finish the rest, but I'm hoping for soon. For now, please enjoy this silly nonsense.
> 
> (Also it is very important to me that you all know the title is a pun. Can't have people thinking I use french to sound fancy after all. It basically means "what goes up must come down". There's the word "ski" in it. That is all.)
> 
> A huge thanks to my friends and everyone in the Ace Omens discord, because I would not have written any of this without you guys.

Crowley stared at the mountain top, unimpressed. Snow fell slowly all around, almost idyllic, save for the wind that blasted it around every so often, whipping his face.

He stood in the ski resort’s parking lot, heavy —unfashionable— boots sinking through the two inches of grey sludge that puddled around them. Snow was accumulating on his sunglasses, sticking to the lenses, obscuring his vision. The snowsuit he’d miracled, at Aziraphale’s insistence, was both an awful fashion statement and, Crowley realized miserably, not nearly warm enough to offer protection against the sharp, damp feeling seeping through his bones. He’d been outside barely a minute and he hated it. Resisting the urge to groan or miracle himself somewhere in Florence with a drink in hand, Crowley reached out to close the Bentley's door. He found it shut and locked already. He wondered if he'd done it without thinking, or if perhaps his car just hated the weather as much as he did. He shrugged; it didn't matter.

"What good's that gonna do for you?" He whispered to it. "You don't even have heated seats. Or any proper heating."

The doors slowly unlocked before locking again. It felt strangely mocking.

"Yeah, yeah."

On the other side of the Bentley, Aziraphale was staring upwards, his expression the opposite of Crowley's. The angel didn't seem to notice the pinching cold (though that may have had to do in part with the fact that he was wearing a thick woolen scarf, a knitted hat (a tuque, the angel had called it), two layers of socks and a cozy pair of tartan mittens; unlike a certain demon). Nor did he notice the incredibly unappealing slushy mess on the ground that may or may not have once been snow. Or the disgusting number of boisterous regulars and tourists all around them, walking along with their skis, and helmets, and snowboard, and goggles, and G— S— Someone, Crowley knew he should have said no when Aziraphale had asked...

They'd been in New York a mere day ago. They were on a bit of a world tour now that they were on leave, so to speak. And then, one morning, as they were running out of museums, and venues, and shows, and restaurants to visit in the big city, Aziraphale had said: “I know you're not much for winter, dear,” and really Crowley should've seen what was coming at that point, but he was busy drinking a very nice glass of red, and looking at the angel dab the corners of his mouth after eating some flaky golden pastry, and maybe he hadn’t been entirely focused on Aziraphale's words at that moment. “But I was wondering if we might postpone our venture to the south and head north for a few days? Only a week or so, really, but I've always wanted to try my hand at some winter activities and I've never really had the chance before, you see... And it seems a shame not to take the opportunity while we're still in the area.”

And Crowley, with the foresight of a blind mole, had answered with a nonchalant: “yeah, sure. Whatever you like angel.”

But they were here now, and Aziraphale had stopped staring at the mountain, to look at him instead, starry-eyed, and there was absolutely no way Crowley would ever back out now.

“My, what a positively lovely sight. Don’t you think so?”

“Hng, yeah, s’great.”

Winter wonderland my arse, the demon thought quietly.

“Oh dear, do you think we needed to make a reservation? Oh, and what about a hotel? I completely forgot to check.”

“All taken care of, don’t worry angel. I got us a place to stay, and a reservation tonight at a restaurant down in the village.”

“Oh, thank you Crowley. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now come on, before we spend the whole day in this parking lot.”


	2. Chapter 2

“We have a beginner’s slope with an instructor there to assist you. It's on the right side when you go out the door. Can't miss it,” the employee handing them a helmet each had said with a smile.

“Thanks. Will do,” Crowley had replied as he left with Aziraphale following close behind, immediately turning left when they walked out the door and back into the cold, heading directly towards the chair-lift.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice was muffled by his getup. “Don't you think we ought to take the advice? It couldn't hurt to train a little, surely.”

“Relax Aziraphale. We'll be fine.”

Crowley stopped walking once they'd cleared the mass of winter enthusiasts crowding the area near the main building and sank his poles in the snow with a bit more force than necessary, dropping his skis to the ground. Aziraphale might be right, but training meant they would be here even longer. Crowley dreaded even the notion alone and, well, really, how hard could it be?

He donned the skis and set about fastening the clasps. He was done with the first boot when he heard his name being called out.

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind terribly helping me with these? I can't quite seem to reach.”

Crowley looked behind him. Aziraphale was nudging his skis with a boot, unable to bend over to tie them on, bundled as he was in his outfit. Like a cream-colored marshmallow, Crowley's mind very helpfully supplied.

He walked the short distance that separated them and dropped to his knees in the snow, suddenly glad he was wearing a full snow suit.

“Stop moving your foot, it's not helping,” he said after a few exasperating moments of useless messing about.

“I'm doing the best I can. It's quite hard to keep your balance with a foot in the air I'll have you know.”

“Right, well... Here, just hold on to me then.”

He took Aziraphale's hands, guiding them onto his shoulders before going back to his task.

“Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale's tone could have melted glaciers.

“Sure,” Crowley replied, the warm feeling in his chest overpowering the freezing temperature for a moment. He quickly secured the clasps on Aziraphale's boots, before getting back on his feet and going back to his own skis. "I'll just do mine and we can go."

Once ready, they made their way to the summit with relative ease; Aziraphale fighting somewhat with his balance, while Crowley struggled to keep his skis straight and did his very best to hide that fact. Luckily for them, they managed to scramble onto the chair-lift on the first try and made it to the top relatively unscathed.

Crowley grinned as slithered out of the lift as best he could and managed to get safely away from it, remaining upright the entire time. It wasn't too bad, he thought. The ride up, while damned windy, had been somewhat peaceful. There weren't as many people around as he feared either. It even looked like he'd figured out how to move around in skis. They could definitely do this.

This particular feeling lasted a surprising four minutes and fifteen seconds.

Crowley glanced down the slope marked with a green circle for _easy_. Suddenly it looked a lot steeper than it had at from the bottom of the mountain. Incidentally, the demon was currently very glad for the mirrored goggles hiding half his face.

Bollocks to that, his mind hissed. No fucking way we can do this. No way.

With very little foliage to offer protection on the summit, the wind was blowing even harder, whipping the uncovered part of his face with a flurry of ice crystals. They stung something fierce against his numbed skin. By this point, he could barely feel his fingers, and had an inkling his poles where only upright because his hands were strapped to them.

To his dismay, but not to his surprise, he found that Aziraphale was almost glowing in delight, looking around in awe, behind what Crowley thought were weirdly appropriate rose-tinted lenses. The angel was most definitely smiling behind his scarf.

“I must say, this is quite the view.”

“S'not bad.”

In his enthusiasm, Aziraphale inched closer to the edge, taking in the snow blanketed landscape.

After a minute or so, Crowley noticed that Aziraphale was, decidedly, no longer at his side.

“This is a bit more slippery than expected,” the angel noted, skis sliding forwards ever so slightly and showing no signs of stopping.

Aziraphale reached the very edge. Crowley simply watched, already leagues more entertained then he'd previously been.

“Oh dear... How do I— Crowley I don't know how to stop—” Aziraphale looked back, poles held raised, tone frantic.

“Just bend your knees and—”

A faint “oh bother” was heard as Aziraphale suddenly found himself heading downhill at an increasing speed.

“...Right, well, I'm sure he'll figure it out,” Crowley shrugged, and followed suit, pushing himself forward.

Alpine skiing, as Crowley found out, meant going down, very fast, in a very precarious manner. There was also a lot of wind.

Aziraphale was a bit further ahead on the slope, evidently trying to slow himself down to no avail.

Crowley wracked his brain for any sort of relevant knowledge. He'd seen a few Winter Olympics broadcasts... And there was that one documentary he fell asleep halfway through. Did those winter fail compilations he'd binged while bored count? Thankfully, he remembered about one bit of advice.

“Aziraphale,” he called out over the sound of wind, “make a _V_ shape with the front of your skis!”

“A what?!”

“Look!”

He tried to demonstrate, effectively slowing to a crawl. Up ahead, Aziraphale had attempted to look back and, while he hadn't stopped, at all, he was quickly approaching the left edge of the track.

“Watch out for—" Crowley warned, a bit too late.

One of Aziraphale's sticks left his hand as he caught the edge of the slope, his skis coming unattached and going on their way without a care, as the angel went sailing through the air for a split second, and ended up, upside down, in a large snowbank.

Crowley barked out a laugh at the sight, and kept laughing as Aziraphale struggled to right himself in the snow.

The angel was lying on his back, looking vaguely like an overturned turtle, ineffectively attacking his powdery assailant with the pole he had left, and sinking deeper with every move.

All the while, Crowley had come to a stop in the middle of the slope, hanging tightly on to his poles to stay upright. His skis, previously in the shape he'd described, had since taken to look a lot more like an _X_ ; the front end of one ski resting on top of the other.

Crowley, busy as he was laughing, had not noticed this. What he did notice, however, was the last-minute shout coming from behind, just as something heavy knocked into him at full force.

With his skis wedged together, the demon didn't stand a chance. The precarious balance he'd been maintaining was gone in an instant and he toppled over his own legs with a yelp, hitting packed snow face first, limbs in complete disarray.

For a moment, everything was muted, completely still. Then Crowley gracelessly flopped onto his back with a groan, dazed from the impact, contemplating an underwhelming view of grey skies.

“Oh mon doux, j'vous ai tu fais mal?”

It took a few seconds for the words to register.

“S'fine, m'great,” Crowley slurred, jaw numb from the cold by this point. The fact he’d answered in English out of habit rather than the appropriate language did not even register.

A gloved hand appeared in his field of vision and he took it gratefully, grimacing slightly at the realisation that his own gloves were now drenched.

“Thanks,” he said after getting back on his feet, before hurriedly sinking his sticks in the snow and hanging tightly onto them when his skis slipped, unwilling to be reacquainted with the cold ground so quickly.

“I’m so sorry about this.” The woman who’d helped him up (and who had presumably knocked him down in the first place) apologized, checking the clasps on her boots. “I was watching your friend and I didn’t see you. I didn’t have time to go around you. I’m not very good at skiing.”

Crowley thought it sounded about right. The woman looked about as out of place on the slope as he felt himself. She did look warmer than him though. He was starting to think foregoing a scarf and getting cheap gloves might not have been the best choice he’d ever made. He looked at his fingers. One of them was poking out through a hole in the knitting.

Oh, for Heav— he’d gotten the damn things that morning!

Should’ve listened to Aziraphale and gotten warmer clothes rather than just miracle something at random, a corner of his mind admonished him.

Aziraphale…

“‘Ziraphale!” The woman next to him startled at his sudden outburst. “Y’alright angel?”

Aziraphale was sitting down at the edge of the track. He looked fine, if a bit winded. He’d lost his hat somewhere, and his hair was plastered to his forehead.

“Just took a bit of a tumble I’m afraid. Nothing to worry about dear boy.”

“Sorry again about before.” Crowley’s attention snapped back to the woman. She’d fixed up her clasps and was adjusting her gloves as she spoke.

“Have a good day!” she told him and Crowley nodded politely. She then waved at Aziraphale, before taking off slowly down the slope, in a much better fashion than anything that the two of them had managed earlier.

The air suddenly changed and Crowley looked to the side to find Aziraphale heading carefully towards him, his hat perfectly in place and his skis miraculously attached to his boots; as if nothing had happened.

“Is everything alright Crowley? I could've sworn I heard that young woman shout something earlier.”

“She jus’ fell down.” Omitting small details did not count as lying, Crowley decided.

“Oh, I do hope she’s alright.” Aziraphale fiddled with the straps of his sticks, fretting slightly.

“‘M sure she’ll live ‘ngel.”

“Well, in any case, I do believe I’m starting to get the hang of this. I’m certain it can't get much worse than, well, than what just happened. Oh, what was that saying again? Nowhere to go but up? Or would it be down in this case?” Aziraphale said, looking perfectly content once again.

“Mhm…”

The whole affair rather went downhill as it turns out. Barely a minute after they got going again, Crowley somehow managed to make acquaintances with a tree. He wasn’t taking any more chances after that. There were still multiple close calls, but all were averted by last minute demonic interventions. Interventions that got a lot harder to perform when Crowley’s fingers got too numb to move properly. Aziraphale, for his part, had indeed gotten the hang of it. Somewhat… He’d figured out how to reduce his speed and had gone down the rest of the slope at a striking pace of two kilometers per hour. Crowley, who’d arrived at the bottom of the track a few minutes prior, had watched him crawl downwards with exasperated fondness.

When Aziraphale finally drew near, Crowley was surprised to see worry in his eyes.

“Are you alright my dear? Only, you’re shivering quite badly. Is it too cold for you?”

Shit… 

“‘M fine,” Crowley attempted, wholly unconvincing as his teeth chattered slightly.

“Oh, I do wish you’d tell me when you’re unwell.”

“Sssaid ‘m fine. Stop fussing,” he muttered, looking away.

“I’ll fuss all I like, thank you very much. Now let me see your face.” 

Aziraphale drew nearer still and Crowley fought the urge to run, though he had a feeling he'd just fall over if he tried. He'd agreed to the whole business to make the angel happy, not to worry him. Aziraphale removed one glove, then stopped abruptly, staring at his hand in wonder. Swirling wisps of steam were rising from it, fading into the cold air.

“Well, that's certainly peculiar.”

Crowley let out a chuckle despite himself, his previous train of thought completely forgotten in an instant.

“Can't do that ‘ngel. S'a non-smoking area.”

“Oh hush." The angel gave him a look before adding primly, "And it's steam, not smoke. I'm surprised you don't know this.”

“Ruinin’ all th’fun.”

There was a brief moment of silence before Aziraphale squinted suddenly, then removed his goggles, hanging them around his neck.

“Crowley, your lips are blue.”

“Whu?” The sudden change of subject had Crowley's brain scrambling to catch up. “Don’t own any blue lipsti— Oh...”

“Hhm, time to head inside I should think.”

As much as he wanted to be somewhere warm, Crowley couldn't help but argue. “Sure ‘bout that? Barely been here ‘n hour.”

“Yes, well, this has all proven to be more than enough excitement for one day and I'm starting to feel a bit peckish.”

His point made, Aziraphale headed towards the main building, expecting Crowley to follow. He did not. Despite his best intentions, the demon realised that his knees, and his feet, and well his whole legs really, had decided they were also going on vacation, promptly fucking off with his motor functions. Crowley watched Aziraphale leave, waiting for the inevitable. It didn't take long.

“Crowley?” Having gone only a few meters away, Aziraphale quickly made his way back to Crowley, doing his best not to step on the other's skis.

“Can’t move," he said miserably.

“Ah, well, if that’s all."

A dangerous glimmer was shining in Aziraphale's eyes, but before Crowley could understand what was happening, he heard a snap, the air around them momentarily displaced as their skiing gear suddenly disappeared, while he found himself thrown nonchalantly over the angel's shoulder.

Aziraphale patted his leg. “There we are,” he said. Thankfully, there wasn't enough strength behind the touch to make his frozen limbs sting. The hand settled, holding him securely and Crowley could've sworn he felt Aziraphale's body heat through the layers of fabric.

“‘Ziraphale, lemme down!” The demon struggled to get free, more for show than anything; the angel clearly had the advantage, not that Aziraphale needed one.

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Well, I’mma... cancel res— reser— dinner plansss then," Crowley tried. It wasn't his best line.

“Now, now, we both know that’s not true,” Aziraphale tutted reprovingly. “And I won’t be swayed that easily, you wily serpent. I’ll let you down once we’re out of the cold. Then I’ll see about getting you some hot cocoa with marshmallows.”

Crowley grumbled internally. The angel wasn't supposed to know about his fondness for those.

“Hrn, only if y'get some too,” he replied instead; attempting to avoid any further losses to his dignity.

“Of course,” Aziraphale said and Crowley could hear the smile in his voice as he was carried off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter taught me that visual humour is suprisingly difficult to convey in written form.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, kudos and comments sustain me and I am always exceedingly grateful for them.
> 
> My tumblr handle is kamipixel. Feel free to come yell with me about Good Omens.


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